Everything She Needs
by adamwhatareyouevendoing
Summary: Jocelyn is ill so Maggie takes care of her. Set after series 2. Established relationship.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Written by Katrina :)**

* * *

Until her phone buzzes from somewhere on the desk, it hasn't actually occurred to Maggie to check whether she's received any messages today.

Her work mobile is neatly positioned next to her laptop, helpfully in clear view, but can she see her personal one? _No_ is the short answer, and actually, she can't think of a longer answer at this moment in time, devoting her attention instead to frantically shuffling papers and press clippings around in search of the errant device.

The blasted thing is on silent _again_ \- (how does that always happen? She could have sworn she'd turned the ringer on this morning before she left the house, but then again she had been rather distracted by Jocelyn insisting on getting a goodbye kiss, as if that doesn't happen every day anyway) - making her search even more difficult.

A triumphant noise escapes her as she grabs at the now-uncovered mobile, which has, at that exact moment, stopped its insistent buzzing.

The display shows 3 missed calls - _oops_ \- two of which were from earlier that morning. _Why didn't I hear those?_ Maggie thinks, then remembers she went out earlier to interview some of the local shop owners about increasing summer tourism. Let it never be said that reporting for the local newspaper of a Dorset seaside town isn't glamorous, but she definitely prefers the editorial side of the job.

Getting back to the matter in hand, however, she manages to unlock the phone in what is probably a record time (normally it takes at least three tries, as her fingers press too quickly at the screen and she inevitably misses a number and sends the screen flashing an angry red warning at her).

She redials Jocelyn's number as quickly as she can, feeling rather apologetic that she's ignored her all day - though never intentionally - and trying not to worry in case Jocelyn needed her help with something and she wasn't there.

The line clicks after five agonising rings as Jocelyn finally answers.

"Hello?"

"It's me, you numpty - do you never check your caller ID?"

"Oh." Jocelyn sounds as though the thought never occurred to her. "Well, at last."

Before Maggie can launch into an apology and an explanation, Jocelyn continues, in her customary unwavering, brisk voice that she normally reserves for brooking no argument when they're squabbling over a crossword clue, or who's turn it is to do the dishes. When she uses this voice, it's definitely because she's wrong, or it's her turn, and she knows it - but hopes to sound authoritative enough that Maggie won't question her. It never works.

"On your way home will you pick up some painkillers? And some Strepsils as well. And maybe some cough medicine, just to be on the safe side."

(Jocelyn has taken to calling it home - _their_ home - much easier than Maggie has, but then again, that's probably because it's always been her home, and only recently become Maggie's as well. The word has been tripping off Jocelyn's tongue for years, but for Maggie it has been mere weeks. It still sounds strange when she says it; makes her wonder when it started wearing into her speech and her voice started curling around the nuances in the syllable. 'Home' used to conjure up thoughts of solitude - an empty shell of a house, with only herself for company. Now it encapsulates the happiness she has found with Jocelyn; of life and love; of walks along the cliffs or sitting up together, late into the night, simply enjoying each other's presence after so long thinking it would never happen).

"Of course... But why? Are we expecting an impending lack in supply of medicinal products in Broadchurch? Or perhaps you're simply planning a change in career and want to become a pharmaceutical supplier?" Maggie doesn't even bother trying to hide the amusement in her voice.

Jocelyn makes a disgruntled noise down the line, and Maggie can tell without even seeing her that Jocelyn is fighting to smother a laugh.

"No," she replies, and says nothing further, still trying to sidestep the issue.

"Jocelyn," Maggie teases, dragging out the syllables in her name in a way that says 'I already know what this is about but I want you to say it'.

"Fine," comes the petulant response. "I've caught your cold." To illustrate the point, Jocelyn gives a pointed, if slightly pathetic, cough.

Maggie laughs softly; feeling sorry for her of course, but Jocelyn always makes an entertaining - if demanding - invalid. "Ah, so the robust Knight constitution wasn't so infallible after all."

"If you're just going to gloat..." Jocelyn mutters, but there's humour in her voice.

"Sorry, sorry," Maggie replies, not sounding apologetic for her teasing in the least. Her voice softens. "Of course I'll pick some stuff up on my way back." The word 'home' catches in her throat again and doesn't make it out. "I thought we already had medicine in though?"

"We did until you used it all," comes Jocelyn's huffy response. Maggie can hear the smile behind the words.

"Oh yeah," Maggie says, unable to think of a witty retort to that, unfortunately, fair-point. She knows Jocelyn will be grinning now that she's all but won the unspoken battle on who has the upper-hand in the conversation. Maggie concedes the loss gracefully - "Okay you can stop gloating now, no one likes a bad champ." - ... Well, almost.

"Says the sore loser," Jocelyn fires back, her voice a teasing lilt.

"I'm hanging up now - lots of important work to be getting on with."

"Yes I have," Jocelyn chips in. "See you later." And with that, she ends the call, beating Maggie to it and thus completely winning the Battle of the Upper-Hand (the mental capitalisation is entirely necessary - Jocelyn is enough of a drama-queen to warrant official titles).

Maggie smiles fondly at her phone as she places it back on the desk, only for it to become engulfed once again in papers as she searches for the stack of post-it notes (that are absolutely, definitely somewhere around here, she promises) to jot down a reminder of Jocelyn-_I-don't-get-ill_-'s medicinal requirements before she gets distracted by her work and forgets.

* * *

When Maggie shows up at Jocelyn's - _theirs_ \- that evening, she's not just carrying the promised medicine. She has to rap at the glass of the patio doors with her elbow for a while until Jocelyn appears with a confused expression, which only deepens when she sees what Maggie is holding on to.

The door slides open. "Hello," Jocelyn says, addressing the box in front of her, on account of not actually being able to see Maggie's face around it. "I wasn't aware I was expecting a delivery from the wholesaler of Boots pharmacy." She moves aside though, and takes Maggie's elbow to guide her inside and navigate safely to the kitchen table.

Maggie sets down the box with an attempted flourish, and a barely concealed sigh of relief. "Ow," she says eventually, flexing her arms to relieve the tension.

She looks up to find Jocelyn gazing at her inquisitively. Maggie gestures to the box with a smile on her face. "Surprise delivery!" she says enthusiastically, her eyes dancing. "Not only do we have here enough medicines to survive an apocalypse - providing the apocalypse was the end to all healthcare products and not the world - we also have these."

She fishes two carrier bags out of the box and passes them to Jocelyn. The first contains food: the ingredients to make another of Maggie's speciality pasta dishes - avocado pesto chicken ("Maybe not a catchy name - it does need some improvement - but fairly self-explanatory.") - along with two of the Co-ops finest mousses for dessert ("You're ill, we've got to try and be healthy.").

The other contains… "Law &amp; Order: UK DVD box sets?" Jocelyn's expression is a sight to behold.

"I thought we could watch them so you can see what the law is actually like," Maggie teases.

"Point out everything they're getting wrong more like," Jocelyn says, but she knows that's what Maggie really means.

"Well, I wouldn't want a peaceful evening would I?"

"I think you just want to take care of me," Jocelyn hints, her eyes gleaming. There's a thread of teasing there, but also an unspoken gratitude in their depths.

"If it stops you whining it's worth it," Maggie grins. "You know what you're like when you're ill."

Jocelyn feigns ignorance. "What's in the rest of the box?" she asks, trying to deflect Maggie's attention. By the mirth dancing in Maggie's eyes, Jocelyn knows she's seen straight through the ploy, but kindly allows the change in subject.

"It's the last of the stuff from -" she catches herself in time, "- my house." That's all it is now; all it ever has been, if she admits it to herself. For a long time now she's known that she would never truly be at home anywhere unless Jocelyn was with her. And now she is.

She feels the prickle of tears in her eyes and blinks them away quickly before Jocelyn sees and misinterprets them. "I'm officially moved in," she smiles. There's nothing false in it, but the truth of the words suddenly creep up on her, and her voice suddenly sounds overwhelmed, yet also completely certain as she says, "I'm home."

And the words have never felt so right.


	2. Chapter 2

**This chapter is basically just Maggie looking after Jocelyn, and tea seems to feature heavily for some reason (who I am kidding, I love tea). Anyway, this is what I had chance to write in my 3-hour train journey, so I hope you enjoy it!**

* * *

By 9 o'clock, Maggie's assertion of not having a peaceful evening turns out to be entirely accurate. If Jocelyn is demanding normally (a trait which admittedly holds her in good stead when arguing a case in the courtroom), that is nothing in comparison to when she is ill. _Maybe demanding is the wrong word_, Maggie amends mentally, insufferable is probably closer to the truth. And the worst part is that it's not even Jocelyn's fault. No, the fault lies entirely with Maggie, because she can't bear to see Jocelyn suffering.

What had started out as simply a sore throat, has, over the course of the evening, become a blocked nose and a headache as well. It is now Maggie's third run to grab some more painkillers and make tea - because tea, as she herself had proclaimed, makes everything better.

(Probably the largest and most fervent dispute they'd had since Maggie moved in had been on the correct way to make tea; prior to this, Maggie had always made tea for the two of them, no matter whose house they'd been at. So imagine first the shock when Jocelyn had been the one to offer to make the tea upon the first evening of Maggie's moving-in, and then the abject horror when Maggie had watched Jocelyn pouring the water on top of the milk and then adding the tea bag.

"What was that?" She had proclaimed, her face twisted in a grimace.

Jocelyn had whirled around to look at her, something akin to a challenge in her eyes. "Tea," she said, as if daring Maggie to disagree.

Maggie never was one to back-down from a challenge, and Jocelyn knew it. "A southern abomination, I think you mean." She shook her head, and put on the broader accent from her youth. "Up north we put the bag in first, then the water, let it brew, then add the milk." As Jocelyn opened her mouth to refute this, Maggie interrupted with: "Don't argue, I've been making your tea that way for years and you've never complained, so don't try and start now." Jocelyn had closed her mouth with an audible snap. 1-0 to Maggie in the Battle of Tea-Making. Maggie still holds onto that win - with Jocelyn they are few and far between.)

Jocelyn is reclined on the sofa when Maggie returns. She quirks a brow, "Comfy?"

"Yes thank you." Jocelyn accepts the tea and painkillers gratefully.

"How are you feeling?"

"Awful." Trust Jocelyn not to sugar-coat it. "I still blame you," she continues petulantly.

Maggie flops down next to her. "If we're playing that game, I blame Olly, considering I caught it from him. But anyway, I don't remember you paying much attention to the possibility of getting ill when you insisted on kissing me - I don't remember coercing you into it." Her smile is teasing and Jocelyn catches the twinkle in her eyes.

"Ah you see, for that I blame you again - you're too irresistible."

Maggie rolls her eyes: somehow Jocelyn knows exactly what to say to prevent Maggie from arguing (and if she finds the words extremely exciting, well she doesn't mention it).

* * *

Perhaps it's a weakness somewhere in Maggie's genetic make-up, but she has always found herself unable to deny Jocelyn anything (the fact that she can't think of an instance where she would have denied her something is entirely beside the point, of course).

So when they'd woken up, and Jocelyn had pushed out her bottom lip in a pout (and no, Maggie definitely didn't find that attractive, not at all), in an attempt to seem feeble and pathetic, well somehow Maggie had found herself agreeing to making Jocelyn breakfast in bed.

She stares tiredly at the mugs while she waits for the kettle to boil, as if the ceramic can possibly yield the secret as to how Maggie ended up so completely enamoured with, and entwined into the life of, such a glorious, frustrating, beautiful, maddening woman as Jocelyn. Early-morning philosophical musings are often the most revealing, she finds. Today however, the elemental truths of life are surprisingly elusive. Instead she takes to watching the toaster carefully, because in her experience, the moment you take your eyes off the blasted thing, the toast goes from pale white bread to a blackened crusty mess in a second (and if you think she's bad, you should see Jocelyn - at least Maggie can actually cook, toast is just a delicate art-form).

Jocelyn looks marginally better when Maggie enters the room bearing a tray: she has at least propped herself up in bed.

"How're you feeling this morning?" Maggie asks.

"Awful," Jocelyn replies, echoing her own words from last night, but this time there is a small smile playing across her lips.

"Liar," Maggie murmurs fondly, climbing back into bed next to her. "I think you just like being looked after by me."

"I couldn't possibly comment." She feigns ignorance whilst eating a piece of toast - a skill Maggie is fairly certain only Jocelyn could carry off. She resumes her argument after a minute, as though no time has passed at all: "And anyway, I looked after you when you were ill."

Maggie smiles, remembering Jocelyn's attempt to make their dinner three nights in a row, insisting that Maggie shouldn't over-exert herself - on one hand, the oven will probably never recover, but on the plus side, the smoke alarms got in a lot of practice tests. She helpfully doesn't mention the fact that she had to step in to ensure that they actually ate at all, good-naturedly putting the temporary lapse in memory down to Jocelyn's illness. The smile on Jocelyn's face tells her that she knows anyway.

"I know of another way I looked after you," Jocelyn murmurs, the suggestive note in her voice sending a thrill through Maggie. Jocelyn takes both of their empty plates and sets them on the bedside table, before leaning forwards.

"I might catch cold again." Maggie says, putting up a token protest, even as she leans in herself. (Truth be told she's pretty sure that's not how colds work, but she sometimes has to try and deny Jocelyn, even if it always fails immediately as soon as she turns those impossibly blue, begging eyes on her). Their lips are millimetres away as Jocelyn's words ghost across Maggie's.

"Oh shut up, and kiss me."

So she does.


End file.
